The Pale Protocol
The iron ring was cold. It sat on the table. Marrow stared at it. The metal was dark. It had no shine. It was just weight. It was just iron. The room was quiet. Dust motes danced. They danced in the light. The light came from the window. The window was high. The glass was thin. Marrow’s hand trembled. He pulled his glove off. The leather was worn. It was soft now. It had been stiff once. It had...
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